


Backstage Pass

by terma_archivist



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996), The X-Files
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-18
Updated: 1999-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: While in Canada, Alex Krycek goes to a punk rock show. Events ensue.
Relationships: Joe Dick/Alex Krycek, Joe Dick/Billy Tallent
Collections: TER/MA





	Backstage Pass

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).  
> In the movie Hard Core Logo, the reunion took place in November 1995. I'm not quite as sure about the dates of Duane Barry and Ascension, but assume that this takes place not long after Krycek fled DC. Who's to say he didn't go to Canada and end up in Calgary for a night or two? Thanks and hugs to Mouse and Nicole for doing their beta voodoo juju.

  
**Backstage Pass  
by Amy B**

  
Absorbing the pounding music into my very bones, I feel myself relaxing for the first time since... when? Since the day I met Fox Mulder, at the very least. But Mulder is a long way from this concert hall, a fact that suits me just fine. I am, if not exactly on vacation, on my own time for the evening. I'm determined not to worry about conspiracies, aliens, shadow governments, power-mad old men, or FBI agents with lush, kissable lips and wounded eyes. 

I'm here to have a little fun for a change. Listen to some ear-shattering music, get a little drunk, have a little meaningless sex—what a plan. The first band was mediocre, but the band playing now is better. Called Hard Core Logo, they're a punk band with a singer whose intensity reaches off the stage and grabs you. Well, it grabs me anyway—right in the crotch. He's not gorgeous, like Fox-who-won't-be-mine-anytime-soon. In fact, if compared objectively, the blond guitar player is better looking. But the singer is where my attention is focused. 

As I watch him growling and shouting song lyrics, I have to wonder if he's really that angry or if it's all an act. He seems pretty into it, like it's an ingrained part of him. I wonder how that simmering rage would translate into sex. I can feel myself getting hard from the animalistic images that thought provokes. I'll bet, if that guy had a lover who could meet his intensity, we'd tear each other apart. I mean, they'd tear each other apart... no, I meant we because I am seriously considering going backstage and see if he might be interested. As I watch him try to catch the guitarist's spit in his mouth, I figure he's probably rather uninhibited, at least about bodily fluids. But now I'm wondering if he's got something going with the guitarist. A threesome would not be bad at all, except that it takes a little more time to set up. I don't know if I want to go to the trouble when I could more easily pick up someone from the crowd. 

Moving closer to the stage just as they start playing the old Bucky Haight tune "Blue Tattoo", I catch the singer's attention. It's fleeting, but I think there were a couple of seconds of contact. All through this song and the next, I move steadily through the packed crowd, closer and closer. By the time they rip into "Something's Gonna Die Tonight", I'm pressed right up against the corner of the stage, held in place by dozens of beer swilling punks and punk-wannabes pogoing wildly with little regard for rhythm or form. Well, they are beer swilling punks, so what should I expect? But I digress. So I'm up against the stage, and I catch his eye again. This time, I give him a slow half-smile and a wink. He doesn't react because he's still singing, but he keeps looking over at me and I keep the smile simmering. 

After the set is over and he's thanking the crowd, he glances my way and I turn the smile up to full intensity. He comes over and says, "You wanna come backstage?" 

Okay, Alex, this is where you have to be so cool ice won't melt in your hand. This guy has seen it all and won't stick around for a second if the first impression sucks. Well, I guess sucking would make a hell of a first impression, but the room is a little too crowded for that so I settle for answering, "Yeah, I wanna come." 

He gives me a shark-like smile and his eyes, which I see now are light blue, glow with feral electricity. In that split second, we see each other a little too clearly for comfort. The potential for destruction, self or otherwise, shows from the depths of his soul, and I can tell he can the see the extremity and chaos that boil inside of me. I should be scared or at least worried that I've become readable and transparent. I don't know about this guy, but fear's never stopped me before. It certainly won't now. 

* * *

The plain concrete room is crowded and smoky, a distilled microcosm of the concert hall, only just a bit cooler—both in temperature and temperament. No punk wannabes here, just musicians and groupies and a few guys, like me, who are neither. I watch them all from just inside the doorway, always cautious. I'm sizing up the people and checking for other exits when I notice some flyers on the floor. 

I pick up one of the flyers and read it. It's an advertisement for tonight's show. Apparently, the band is on some kind of limited reunion tour across Western Canada. The singer who caught my eye goes by the unlikely name of Joe Dick, and the guitarist is Billy Tallent. I'm pleased to have this information, since using a person's name can be a powerful weapon. Just ask any good salesman or my old FBI colleague, _Fox_ Mulder. 

I shake my head to loosen up those thoughts of Mulder that always seem to creep in at the most inopportune times. I notice Joe cutting his way through the crowd toward me looking like some kind of crow in his raggedy black sweater. The beer he's drinking from a half full bottle must be really mixing well with the whiskey he was downing on stage. Oddly enough, he looks barely buzzed instead of falling down drunk, which is what one might reasonably expect. My opinion of him goes up a couple of notches, and I can't help but wonder if he has some Russian blood in him. "Hey, Joe." 

"Hey, you made it without gettin' fuckin' lost. Good for you." He's looking at me as if he didn't really expect me to come back here, and he wouldn't have cared much if I hadn't. That indifference makes me incredibly hot, and I can feel my cock starting to take an active interest. The sweet rush of blood to my groin almost distracts me from his next comment. "I didn't get your name earlier." 

I stare back at him for a moment until he narrows his eyes in irritation. I smile just a little and hold out my hand. "Alex." 

He clasps it in that guy way of twisting the thumbs together and wrapping the fingers across the back of the hand nearly to the wrist. It's a hold I've been in many times, but it hardly ever fails to make me think the guy really wants to arm-wrestle. But from the heat in those icy blue eyes, I'd say Joe was thinking about some other kind of wrestling. He held onto my hand for several seconds longer than a normal handshake, and stared into my face, unblinking the entire time. 

Slowly turning my hand loose, he said, "What're you just standing there for? Grab a beer or... whatever." 

The pause in that sentence is almost a challenge so I step closer, into his personal space. Inhaling the smoky smell of his clothes and the yeast of the beer, I run one hand down his arm quickly. I pick up the hand not holding the bottle and examine his heavy silver rings for a moment, then glance up through my lashes. "I think I'd rather have whatever. That's why I'm here and you know it." 

I've made my play. Now the ball is back in his court. Will he decide to go all homophobic and try to kick my ass or will he take what we both want? Before he can say anything, the guitar player sidles up to us, sinuous as a cat. 

"Hey Billy! This is Alex, our number one fan." Pulling his fingers from my light grip, Joe tosses one arm over Billy's shoulder and leans in close as if whispering a secret, but says in a normal tone, "How about that?" 

"That's great, Joe. Nice to meet ya, Alex." Billy speaks with a little nod that seems say that he's done his part to be sociable, now he just wants to be somewhere else. He's also trying not to look jealous of the physically charged attention Joe and I are giving each other. 

I can't help but laugh at his failure, but I cover by saying, "Actually, I never heard of you guys until tonight. I just happened to come to this club because I was bored and it was close." 

"But now you're a fan, right? 'Cause we kicked ass... right?" Joe's second question seems more directed at Billy than me, but I answer anyway. 

"Yeah, you kicked ass. So you want to get out of here? Go somewhere so I can show my appreciation?" I give him a little grin that I've been told is quite sexy. 

Joe tightens his grip on Billy's shoulder and says, "Only if Bill can come." 

Billy shakes his head, and speaks tiredly, as if continuing a very old conversation, "Ah, come on, Joe..." 

I lean in close to Joe and whisper in his ear, "I don't believe Bill wants to come." 

"Yes, he does. He just doesn't want to want to come. Come on, Billy Hollywood, you can take a fucking nap or something." 

Billy lets out a sigh, but one side of his mouth kicks up as if he's amused at something, and I wonder if it's Joe or himself or both...   
  
"All right, let's get the fuck out of here. We're staying at a motel not far from here. You got wheels?" 

I say yes, and the next thing I know we're taking my car over to a motel that's maybe two steps up from fleabag. Joe unlocks the door, and Billy heads straight to the bathroom. I step into the room, and Joe grabs me by the front of my shirt and pulls me toward the bed nearest to the door. 

I stop long enough to ask, "What about Billy?" 

Taking off his long black coat, Joe shakes his head and says, "Don't worry about him. He'll get what he needs, when he wants it. This is just you and me, baby." 

Reaching one hand behind me, I take the gun from my waistband, and slip it into the pocket of my leather jacket. Then I take the jacket off and lay it on a chair where I can get to it easily if needed. I do this all so quickly that Joe doesn't notice anything except that my jacket's gone. He pulls my T-shirt over my head so roughly a shoulder seam gives way. Jerking the covers off the bed, he pushes me down onto the sheets. Since it seems to make him happy, I let him take the lead, sitting there quietly as he strips off his own shirt revealing winter pale skin and a sturdy body that'll go to fat soon if he doesn't take better care of himself. 

When he sits on the chair to take off his boots, I realize I'd better take off my own boots before he offers to do it and finds the knife that's hidden there. Sitting on the edge of the bed facing Joe, I pull them and my socks off slowly. While I'm at it, I unbutton my jeans, watching Joe mirror my every move with equal slowness. 

The bathroom door opens and Billy strolls out naked as the day he was born. I figure he'll come over and join Joe and me in our odd little disrobing ritual, but he doesn't. He turns the covers down on the other bed, and lies down, fluffing the pillow a little under his head and pulling the sheet up to his waist. Then he turns over on his side facing Joe and me and... watches. He never says a word, just watches every move we make with an intent look in his eyes—chameleon eyes that at first looked blue and then appeared green for awhile before settling into a gold-flecked grey in the dim light of the motel room. Now, who else do I know with changeable eyes? Of course, it always comes back to Mulder. Always. 

Joe totally ignores Billy as he finishes undressing, so I do the same. A little voyeurism is harmless enough, and I don't mind performing for an appreciative audience on occasion. 

Once we're both completely naked, Joe climbs onto the bed, sticks the extra pillow under my head, then straddles my chest. His thighs are spread wide, knees resting on my biceps, holding my arms pinned straight out from my sides. My right arm is sticking off the edge of the bed uncomfortably, so I bend my elbow to bring my hand up where I can rub my fingertips across the side of his leg. It's not much, but it is voluntary contact. 

Bracing one hand on the wall above us, he brushes the head of his half-hard cock across my lips and I open them wide enough for him to slip inside. As I lick around the head, the cock swells against my tongue and I try to take more of the hard shaft into my mouth. The angle makes deep penetration impossible until Joe leans forward even more, plunging his cock almost down my throat. I swallow around the intrusion, thankful to have the experience and skill needed to avoid gagging, then I begin to suck. And Joe begins to moan. 

The silky skin of his cock slides across my lips and tongue, and it's all I can do not to bite into it—it's just that good. The hot solid feel of a man's cock in my mouth stirs up some complicated feelings. It always has. On the one hand, I hate the submissive posture, yet on the other hand I feel incredibly powerful, knowing that I can draw such sounds and responses from a big tough guy with just a wiggle of my tongue against the sweet spot on the underside of his cock. 

Of course, since I met Mulder, he's always at the front of my mind during such encounters— few though they have been. Although it used to be a favorite pastime, I've been unable to bring myself to touch a woman since the day I walked into the bullpen in the Hoover building and lost my heart to that stubborn man. Each man I've been with since has become Mulder at some point during the liaison, and I can feel it happening now as I look up into sky blue eyes that suddenly seem to turn hazel. For my own self-preservation and in fairness to Joe, I can't allow that to happen this time. I blink hard a couple of times, and once again I see Joe with his pale round face and black mohawk looking so unMulderlike as he curses under his gasping breath, and starts to thrust deeper into my throat. I relax and take it, working my tongue and lips in all the ways I know will give him the most pleasure. Finally, he comes in salty pulses down my throat, yelling, "Fuck yeah!" 

By now, I'm hard and leaking, and I know one touch would set me off, if I could just reach... The sudden release of pressure from my arms lets the blood rush in, bringing the sting of a thousand needles. I hiss out a curse as Joe moves down the bed, straightening out on top of me. He looks over at Billy, who nods minutely, then takes my mouth in a bruising kiss. He thrusts his tongue between my lips just as he had thrust his cock earlier. I kiss back, and we lie there exchanging hard wet kisses while I start to arch my hips against his, rubbing my aching erection against the blade of his hipbone. He holds his hips still as I hump against him, faster and faster, ripping my mouth away from his to draw in a much needed breath. He drops his face into my neck, teeth nipping at my skin. The heavy silver hoop in his left ear is cold against my jaw as the heat of his mouth devours my neck and shoulder. The delicious pain of his teeth sends me flying over the edge, and I come against his belly in what feels like an endless stream. My whole body shakes like it's going to come apart, and my vision grows dim. This last distresses me until I realize my eyes are slowly closing, that I am, in fact, not going to pass out. 

Something makes me turn my head to the side and look at Billy, whom I'd pretty much forgotten even existed much less inhabited the room. He's wearing a slight smile, and watching Joe possessively. I have no idea what's going on with these guys, but it doesn't seem like a threat to me so I'm not going to worry about it. Joe has slid off me and is sprawled face down on the other side of the bed. I'm too exhausted to move so I pull the sheet up and wipe myself off with the edge. When I look again, Billy's eyes are closed and his breathing is deep and even, so I allow myself to doze off for awhile. 

* * *

A sound brings me suddenly awake, but I lie there as if I'm still asleep in the age-old survivor's tradition. Continuing to breathe deeply and evenly, I listen carefully to identify the sound that woke me. I realize that the sheets next to me feel cool and empty, and then I hear the noise again. It's a very faint moan coming from the direction of the other bed. Since my head happens to be turned that way, all I have to do is open my eyes just a little bit. The room is striped with late morning sunlight coming through the gaps in the curtains. Since having my back to the window puts my face in deep shadow, I feel safe opening my eyes further and am treated to an interesting sight. Joe has indeed left this bed, and is cuddled up with Billy on the other. 

Billy is propped up on one elbow, stroking Joe's face softly with his free hand. He drops a soft kiss to Joe's lips drawing a barely audible moan. Joe's eyes are closed but he's wearing an expression that can only be called content. And that expression is the most surprising thing of all about this whole scene. Just from our very brief acquaintance, Joe doesn't seem the type to ever be truly satisfied. But that little bit of attention— no, affection —from Billy has him practically purring. 

As I watch in spellbound silence, the kisses gradually grow deeper and last longer. The kisses are full of the passion that Joe shared with me last night, but there's also an element of tenderness that usually comes from a long-term relationship or very deep feelings. Now Joe is licking at the golden brown stubble on Billy's jaw, and Billy has his eyes closed in what looks like total surrender. I expect Joe to roll him over and fuck him quick and rough like he did to me, which I enjoyed very much, by the way. But he doesn't do that. Instead, Joe reaches down beside the bed somewhere and pulls out a condom and a small bottle of lube. He applies them both to Billy, all the while keeping his mouth moving over Billy's face. 

Billy's hands are all over Joe's body now, but his movements are still slow and languorous. Each stroke of his fingers is a sexual act complete in itself. It is the most erotic thing I have ever seen in which I was not a participant. My breathing is still silent, but it's getting quick and shallow as my cock hardens against the smooth cotton sheet. I slide my hand down to touch my needy member and try to time my strokes to match Billy's as he caresses Joe's cock, bringing muttered curses from the man trying to get Billy prepared. 

When Billy's cock is finally wrapped and anointed, Joe spreads his legs and tilts his hips. Billy slides right inside him, as if they've done it so many times that they have their moves down pat. Joe raises up while Billy curls over him, and they kiss again, a slow slide of lips and tongues that has me almost panting. 

I'm pulling on my cock with all the well-practiced motions that I know will bring me off the quickest. I feel as if I'm going to explode as I watch Billy's lithe body working over Joe's bigger one. It is a fucking work of art, no pun intended. The straining muscles, the sweat-glistened skin, the tightly coiled energy... Just as Joe mutters a couple of curses and lunges for Billy's mouth, my orgasm starts and my eyes close of their own accord. The pleasure washes through me and over me, surrounding and drowning me until I'm sure my heart can't take anymore. I'm alone at the center of the universe for a few blissful seconds before I drift back down to earth. 

Drying my hand on the sheet, I open my eyes to see Billy gently pulling out of Joe. Joe's eyes are closed and Billy is wearing the tenderest expression I have ever seen on a man's face, but he also looks so unbearably sad that I want to turn away. Pretend I don't see it so that I won't be expected to offer comfort. But he doesn't seem to remember I'm in the room at all. 

Billy reaches over and picks up his watch off the nightstand, squinting at the numbers. His curse sounds unusually loud in the silent room as he shakes Joe from his post-coital daze. "Hey, Joe. I gotta go do an interview with that Tiffany chick from... what's that magazine? I've barely got time for a shower. You okay?" 

"Yeah, yeah go on. I'll be down as soon as I get cleaned up." With one last quick kiss, Billy gets up and goes into the bathroom without a single glance in my direction. 

Joe looks over at me and says, "Sorry, I can't offer you a shower too, but we're on a tight schedule." 

"That's all right. I need to get going anyway." I sit up and reach for my clothes, pulling them on with cool efficiency. As I'm putting on my ripped T-shirt, I turn for one last look at Joe who's already on his second cigarette. Nodding at the bathroom, I say, "Is he going to be all right? With what all we did, I mean?" 

"Yeah, he's a contrary son of a bitch, but he likes these little games." Joe nods at me with a little smile that speaks of many things that will remain unspoken. He points at my chest showing through the black fabric and says, "Did I do that?" 

"Yeah, you don't remember?" 

"Not specifically," he replies with a shrug, then gets up and goes over to the dresser. He opens up the duffel bag that's sitting there and takes out another black T-shirt, tossing it to me before going back to the bed. 

Shaking out the shirt, I see that the front reads 'HARD CORE LOGO' in big square white letters, all except for the 'A' which is bigger, more pointed, and in blood red. It is also encircled which reminds me uncomfortably of a target, but I take off my old shirt and put it on anyway. "Thanks, Joe. It's been a blast." 

"Yeah... Alex. You take it easy." 

I give him my brightest, most carefree grin and say, "I always do. Good luck on the rest of your tour." 

"Yeah," replies Joe, but he's looking at the bathroom door almost... wistfully? Is that what I see in the tightly drawn mouth and soft gaze under lowered brows? Oh, yeah. I've seen that look before and felt it cross my own face a few times around the unbelievably obtuse Fox Mulder. 

The thought of Mulder galvanizes me into action, as it usually seems to do, and I slip on my jacket and walk out of the room. 

Getting into my car, I think that since I don't have any more business keeping me in Calgary, it's time for me to move on. Maybe head back to the States, unless there's another job for me up here somewhere. As much as I hate to do it, I pull over at the first payphone I see. I dial a number in D.C. and give my code to the drone who answers the phone. He makes me wait for a full minute before he answers the phone with a smarmy, "Alex, how good to hear from you. I hope your trip is going well." 

"Quite. The package was delivered successfully. What do you want me to do now?" I speak with polite efficiency, then wait for his reply. When it comes a moment later, it is exactly what I was secretly longing to hear. 

"Come back to Washington. I believe Agent Mulder has something that would be potentially damaging to my colleagues, and I want you to get it." 

"Yes, sir. I'll be there as soon as I can." I hang up the phone with a smile. For whatever twisted reason, I'm going to see Mulder again so I'm happy. For the moment. 

* * *

Fandom: XF/HCL   
Pairing: Alex Krycek/Joe Dick, Joe/Billy Tallent   
Rating: NC-17   
Date: May 18, 1999   
Sequel/Series: No   
Feedback: All comments welcome at [email removed]   
Disclaimers: None of the characters belong to me but, whoo boy, did they have fun while I borrowed them for this PWP, which has no redeeming value whatsoever. I cleaned them off and put them back, safe and sound.   
Notes: In the movie Hard Core Logo, the reunion took place in November 1995. I'm not quite as sure about the dates of Duane Barry and Ascension, but assume that this takes place not long after Krycek fled DC. Who's to say he didn't go to Canada and end up in Calgary for a night or two? Thanks and hugs to Mouse and Nicole for doing their beta voodoo juju.   
Summary: While in Canada, Alex Krycek goes to a punk rock show. Events ensue.   
---


End file.
